


The Long Hours

by Aly_H



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Major Injury, Post-Trespasser, mildly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: My contribution to Round 10 of the DAficSwap on tumblr.My partner requested angsty Trespasser stuff for Dorian and their OC, the warrior Vaxus Trevelyan.





	The Long Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ajir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajir/gifts).



> So, first of all go check out [ @DAficswap](http://daficswap.tumblr.com/) and see all the awesome work people have done for this! It's amazing.
> 
> My partner for this round was [@latefortevinter](http://latefortevinter.tumblr.com/)/[@trashwarden,](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/) they're a fantastic artist whose work you should definitely go check out. (They did [this awesome piece](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/168903189203/zevran-and-falcon-for-aly-the-writer-they) of my Warden Falcon with Zev in exchange!)

The setting sun had painted the walls opposite the windows with hues of fiery oranges and gold-dripped yellows, the floral wallpaper transformed into a field of marigolds.

The room beyond this one was filled with voices – Leliana’s, Cullen’s, and Josephine’s - as the three argued one another into circles with greater and greater intensity. They were afraid and falling back to the old habits because of it.

It was annoying, but he couldn’t bring himself to find the energy to scold or scoff their circular arguments just this once. Couldn’t find the energy to cast so much as a glare in the direction of the door, really.

Instead he sat in the uncomfortable chair beside the Inquisitor’s bed, and watched over the sleeping man. He tried to read, to display himself as nonchalant now things had quieted but he didn’t _feel_ any less anxious than before.

A bruise colored a dark spot on his jaw, his hair and clothes still messy – although he had changed out of the blood soaked ones he had returned to the palace in – and worry had set dark circles around his eyes.

Most painfully, though, his heart ached to see his love in this condition.

Vaxus was still, asleep, and kept there by magic so that the spells repairing his body as best they could would have more time to work.

A healer, a proper one, had been brought from nearby to care for the Inquisitor. It had apparently been a close thing, the Anchor had done more damage than just stealing the hand of his _Amatus_ , and there’d been a lot of blood lost.

The scent of Elfroot and other medicinal herbs clung to the room’s air, too heavily for Dorian to be able to forget the injury he was trying so stubbornly not to stare at but he had read the same line – _He almost didn’t hear the ambush coming_ – over and over again.

Try as he might to relax to let himself get lost in the misadventures of Varric’s fictional guardsman tonight he could not.

It was like Adamant all over again, only so much worse – the Inquisitor had been left with proof of the dangers of his fate that would never be able to heal, that couldn’t be hidden or secreted away.

The door sprang open with such force he jumped up, a spell already halfway to his fingertips, nearly upsetting the chair he had been sat in when he realized it was Cassandra.

The dark haired woman didn’t say a word – worried tension written in every line of her body as she maneuvered the great monstrosity of a sword that Vaxus wielded with ease. One of her wrists was bandaged, sprained from a blow taken during the fight with the Qunari mage, and a few thin scratches and cuts decorated her face in addition to the older scars.

One of the deepest had come from the blast the anchor had put out before they knew how dangerous that mark had truly become.

Her eyes were red, swollen as if she’d been crying – which she probably _had_. Somewhere that no one else would be able to see that the Seeker had a heart: that she wasn’t all steel and wrath after all.

She leaned the weapon against the wall, out of the way. The blade glinting in the last rays of the dying sunlight – perfectly cleaned, and cared for. Polished to that high shine all those who had begun their careers as Chantry knights seemed to keep their weapons at.

One less thing for Vaxus to worry at when he woke.

Once it was set so that it could not fall over she approached the bedside, almost hesitant – she was never very good with words and at the moment she wasn’t even trying.

When Dorian made no move to say anything or stop her she reached out to touch the Inquisitor – to make sure he was really there.

Her hand reached out to brush aside Vax’s cowlick, her fingertips brushing the scar that was usually hidden behind it.

Looking up she met Dorian’s gaze – they did not always get on, the Seeker was a woman of quick, harsh judgments for all she was willing to reexamine them but that had colored much of their early impressions of one another. And he had been prone to some jealousy regarding the woman’s closeness to the Inquisitor.

Things had improved a little when they began to trade books, and they had both become certain that the other would rather die than see something like _this_ happen to Vaxus.

“He _will_ be alright,” she said quietly, but there was a forcefulness to her voice as she said it. Like the way she said her prayers, or talked of the Maker – as if with just those words and strength of her will behind them she could make it the truth.

Softer, more uncertain, as if to herself - “He _has_ to be.”

The Seeker did not linger long, her eyes going to the door as Josephine’s raised voice carried to the room once more.

“I will see to them,” she promised Dorian, her expression of grim determination before she left him to watch over his lover as she chased the nuisances away so that they might have some quiet.

So often he had envied Cassandra and Vaxus – the two were warriors, they understood one another that way in a way he could never match, and she had known about his sister long before Dorian had, had been able to offer support regarding it.

But he remembered facing the silent eluvian at the crossroads - the warrior’s armor biting into his arms as she held him back from it so he did not hurl himself uselessly into the darkened glass – and now, there was some part of him that was grateful that she had been there. That she cared nearly as much as he did, but in an entirely different way.

Vivienne was the next to visit. Few signs of their ordeal in the Crossroads remained on the regal southern mage. She had more bearing to her than half the Magisters he knew, and the cunning to out maneuver many more than that.

The Orlesians called her _Madame de Fer_ – the Iron Lady – but iron melted, rusted, twisted and snapped under enough pressure. She was far more dangerous, far stronger than simple iron. Diamond, maybe, but not iron.

Women forged in a volcano’s heart weren’t allowed shows of tenderness but this once she allowed herself one as she fussed at the blankets, making sure that they were smooth and up high enough to keep the sleeping Inquisitor warm. Her expression almost motherly as she did so.

There were little imperfections in the woman’s makeup, as if done with a hand that shook just a little too much and she had been too distracted to fix them.

 “Darling,” her eyes were on him now, “You look absolutely dreadful.” There was no venom, no bite, behind the remark for all the words _could_ have been hurtful. “Have you slept at all?”

“Of course not,” he huffed back, though he was half afraid he rather croaked as he hadn’t spoken a word in roughly half a day.

She _tsk_ ed softly at him, “Rest – you need it, we can’t have you losing your looks. You’ll worry the Inquisitor half to death.”

“Can’t have that, can we? The blasted fool is half way there already,” the bitterness – the anger – in the words surprised even himself. It wasn’t even at Vaxus, not entirely. His _amatus_ had done what he had always done – saved the world because that was what was expected of him, what was asked of him, and Dorian was now furious with the world – with himself, too – for asking it.

Vivienne’s expression softened from her regality, and she went to him, setting a hand on his shoulder very gently – Comfort? Sympathy? Understanding? Dorian wasn’t sure what the gesture meant - before she took her leave as well.

Several hours dragged on with more infrequent visitors – Varric visited but did not speak much nor stay long, an echo of pain in his eyes that said he was seeing too many ghosts to try to help his friends. The Bull did not visit but his lieutenant came and offered a few words of sympathy and an offer to send for whatever help they needed – the Bull’s Chargers were there for him and the Inquisitor - spoken in their shared mother tongue. Josephine visited briefly and left behind a box of imported chocolates for Dorian that they both knew Vaxus would enjoy sharing when he woke. Cole came and left, fretting under his breath.

One visitor he had not expected was Cullen, laden with a tray in one hand and a chessboard tucked under his arm.

The Commander set up both on one of the little tables and then _dragged_ the elaborately carved monstrosity over to them, Dorian suspected that it was a lot heavier than it looked too. At least the dog hadn’t come in – though he suspected the beast that the Commander had recently adopted was somewhere nearby.

“You need to eat,” he told him firmly as he fetched a chair and sat opposite Dorian.

The food brought was a simple affair, as it’d been assembled by one of the most typically Ferelden people he knew he wasn’t sure what else he would have expected. A sandwich, meat and cheese, a handful of cut up fruits and sausages lay on the plate.

Unlike the previous visitors Cullen hadn’t come to check on Vaxus, which meant getting rid of him so that he might continue his vigil over his beloved’s side would be more difficult.

“I assure you, Commander, I am quite alright.”

“You haven’t eaten since you returned and I know you haven’t been eating enough since you got to Orlais,” the blond former-Templar frowned.

Cullen was sharper than most gave him credit for, and it wasn’t just the impulse to feed people into feeling better than Fereldens shared (Sera was the same way, anyways, though her method sometimes devolved into just hurling pies or cakes at people who evaded her earlier attempts).

Dorian scowled a little – he _hadn’t_ been eating properly, grief for his father, guilt over leaving Vaxus so soon after returning, worry about the Exalted Council, anxiety regarding his joining the Magisterium had all rendered him without much of an appetite.

He had hoped that no one had noticed.

“I’m not hungry.”

Cullen frowned a little before looking to the board, “Alright – how about if I win, you’ll at least try to eat? If you win I’ll let the matter be.” He opened his mouth to refuse to play, “If you don’t play I sit here and nag at you like an old Gran.”

That got a wince and Dorian reached out and moved one of the knights. He could do without the nagging.

Besides, truthfully, after so many solemn words and worried, guilty expressions on the faces of those that his _amatus_ cared for, his own visage included, he was grateful for the distraction of a game.

He lost, he usually did with the Commander when Cullen got serious, but his stomach was also grateful for the few bites he managed down afterward even if the food itself was tasteless in his mouth. Once that was done Cullen cleaned up the tray and board and left his vigil once more.

He must’ve drifted asleep at some point, even in the dreadfully uncomfortable chair, because when he woke the window was open and there was a Sera was pacing uneasily and nearly silently in the room. Her footsteps made no noise – she would have been _completely_ silent were not for her soft mutterings.

The profanity laden string of worry and frustration and anger at Solas was intermixed with more than a few promises to stick an arrow in the ‘shiny bald arse-biscuit’s egg head’ on Vaxus’s behalf.

Dorian smiled at those.

He could understand the sentiment. He certainly _shared_ the sentiment though his desires primarily included magical fire rather than arrows.

She froze suddenly jerked around to stare at him, realizing that he was awake, “Oh, hey you,” she said offering a nervous smile. “He gonna be alright, right? Like, you ain’t gonna leave him til he is, right?”

“I won’t abandon him in his time of need, Sera,” Dorian promised.

“Good, I didn’t want to have to put an arrow up _your_ arse for being stupid – well, _stupider_ and not looking after him. He’s…he’s gonna need you for this, you know?”

He nodded, the blond elf could be a little volatile when emotions came into play, but it was always clear she _cared_. She was a bit like a little sister to Vaxus though, and even _he_ preferred the elf when she was being mischievous and troublesome than when she was scared and hurt, he wanted to comfort her.

“I’ll help him,” Dorian promised.

She nodded sharply, and walked over to the bed to scowl at Vaxus, still kept asleep by the spells and herbs he had been fed, “You better not sleep long, y’hear? I got more pies and I need someone to throw them. Just cus you’re down an arm doesn’t mean you get to get outta that.”

With that she went back to the window and down the trellis, back to whatever corner of safety she had found – maybe to write in her little book that she left out where anyone might read.

She was right: Vaxus would need him, and he would – with Mae’s help – push his return to Tevinter back as far as possible but – _Kaffas_.

It couldn’t be delayed forever, and down an arm, healing and now without the power of a magical Veil-rending mark it was even more true that Tevinter was simply too dangerous for his _Amatus_. He couldn’t be sure he could protect Vaxus there and….

Well, that day had been proof enough that he couldn’t lose his beloved.

His heart had nearly broken knowing that the man’s retreating shadow through the Eluvian might have been the last time he’d ever see his love when the mirror had gone dark had nearly broken him.

The tears that he had held back until then - the ones that he had refused to shed when he realized his lover was dying, the ones that he hadn’t cried when Vaxus had left him behind, the ones that he hadn’t been able to shed as he and Vivienne kept the love of his life from slipping into death from shock and blood loss, the ones that he still hadn’t wept in this silent room waiting for his _amatus’s_ eyes to open – began to fall silently.

Unable to staunch the tide of them he let them trickle down his cheeks - his makeup had been washed away with the blood earlier, there would be little sign of them once he dried them from his face.

It had only been a few days but so much had changed in that time. He had very nearly lost the one person who made all that suffering worth it to the same cursed mark that had been the reason they had met at all.

Vaxus had known too, hadn’t he? When he’d spoken of Tevinter there’d been a look of sorrow too great to be explained by just his departure. And Cassandra had been giving them strange little glances – he’d confided in her, hadn’t he? Or had she simply guessed? – sought the truth out like her profession implied.

The sky outside was growing bright again, and the little song birds that inhabited the gardens were beginning to sing when he finally did dry the last of those tears. He could hear the servants beginning to prepare the palace for the coming day and attend to their morning chores.

He couldn’t be seen crying like a child by some made there to tend the fire.

As he wiped away the last of them carefully with his sleeve – perhaps some habits had rubbed off on him from the Southern ‘barbarians’ he had called friends for the last few years – there was the sound of the soft shift from beneath the blanket.

Vaxus stirred lightly at first and then blinked his eyes open slowly at first until he spotted Dorian.

His _Amatus_ smiled to see him there. Bright and beautiful, as if relieved to see Dorian.

Whatever had happened – whatever was _going_ to happen, this was the man he loved.

This wasn’t one of Varric’s stories, but right then in that moment he smiled back – they were both alive, they had both survived. They had to have a chance at a happy ending together if that was the case.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please leave a kudos or comment!
> 
> Want to chat or drop in a writing request you can always find me over at tumblr


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